How to Catch a Wicked Viscount

by Amy Rose Bennett

  He grinned when he caught Sophie staring. “We survived the flood,” he declared as he handed his coat, hat, gloves, and the wet umbrella to a hovering attendant at the door.

  “Heavens, and they say women are prone to exaggeration,” countered Charlie, removing her gloves and bonnet. Her rich, red brown curls had clustered into tighter ringlets around her damp cheeks. “Are you going to join us, dear brother, or do you have better things to do?”

  Lord Malverne kept his gaze on Sophie as she self-consciously untied her own bonnet and smoothed her hair; it seemed a wayward strand had become plastered to her cheek, and she fancied the viscount’s eyes lingered on her face as she pushed it behind her ear. “I’d love to,” he said after Sophie dropped her own gaze to the toes of his boots. “Unless I’m intruding. You said you were meeting someone?”

  “Yes. Arabella Jardine and Olivia de Vere.” Charlie caught the eye of one of the waiters and asked him to show them to their reserved table.

  “Ah, the other two sisters from your Society for Enlightened Young Women,” Lord Malverne remarked as they followed the liveried waiter past a counter laden with an eye-catching array of decadent cakes, desserts, and mouthwatering pastries and then into the surprisingly crowded tearoom. Despite the inclement weather, the shop was brimming with well-heeled patrons.

  Sophie’s forehead knit into a frown as the import of what the viscount had just said sank in. “You know about our group?” she asked. She’d had no idea that Charlie and her brother were so close.

  Lord Malverne’s dark eyes glimmered with amusement again, but it was Charlie who responded. “I hope you don’t mind that he does.” Touching Sophie’s arm, a shadow of guilt flitted across her face. “After ‘the incident,’ shall we say, I felt compelled to explain the situation to my father and Nate.”

  “You know all your secrets are safe with me,” murmured Lord Malverne near Sophie’s ear, making her heart stutter. However, as he pulled out an elegantly turned wooden chair for her at their table, he deftly steered the conversation in a different direction by adding, “I swear Charlie will kill me if I don’t stay silent about your society. I’m sure you know how fearsome she can be.”

  Sophie smiled as she sat. Her friend could be fearsome. But she was also lively and loyal to a fault, and during their time at Mrs. Rathbone’s academy, she’d grown to love her like a sister.

  Charlie, who’d taken a seat across from her, must have heard her brother as she arched an elegant brow. “Yes, you’d best not forget that, Nathaniel Hastings,” she warned. Although Sophie noticed her wide mouth twitched with a smile.

  Lord Malverne flipped out his coattails in preparation to sit down, when Olivia and Arabella appeared at their table.

  “I . . . I’m so s-s-sorry we’re late, everyone,” Olivia stammered breathlessly, her cheeks as pink as her well-cut gown. “It’s m-my fault entirely. My aunt was being . . . well, her usual self.” Her dark liquid eyes flitted from Lord Malverne to Charlie and then to Sophie.

  “Sophie!” she cried. Ignoring the usual dictates of decorum, she gathered her into a warm hug. Arabella, who appeared to be her usual unflustered self, offered Sophie a gentle kiss on the cheek.

  Charlie laughed. “We just put it down to the abysmal weather.”

  Lord Malverne offered an elegant bow when Charlie introduced him. “Miss de Vere, Miss Jardine, your timing is perfect,” he said with a smooth smile. “We’ve only just arrived, too, so you’re not late at all.”

  “Olivia, darling,” Charlie declared as they all took their seats. “I’m so glad you were able to come. I must confess I was a tad worried your aunt and uncle wouldn’t let you join us.”

  “Truth to tell, a wee bit of skullduggery was involved,” said Arabella with a sly grin. After pulling a cotton handkerchief from her rather sturdy leather satchel, she then removed her spectacles and set about wiping the rain spots away. “I informed Olivia’s aunt Edith that her niece would be accompanying me on a tour of the Foundling Hospital, a most worthwhile charitable concern, so she could hardly complain about the nature of the outing. And that my aunt Flora, our supposed chaperone, was waiting in the hackney because of the rain.”

  “Yes and as Aunt Edith’s rheumatism was playing up, she let me go without the usual interrogation,” added Olivia. “Thankfully my uncle Reginald was out of the house, too, so it all worked out quite nicely.”

  Sophie’s heart clenched. It appeared Olivia’s guardians had started to treat her like a felon since “the academy incident.” Five years ago, Olivia’s life was torn asunder when her parents were both killed in a tragic carriage accident. Ever since that time, she’d been under the care of her uncle and aunt, who seemed to only value their niece for her large inheritance, which was currently held in a trust fund. Naturally, Olivia couldn’t wait for the day when she could cut ties with them completely—either by marrying a man of her choosing after she turned twenty-one, or when she turned twenty-five, the age at which she could claim her entire inheritance.

  “You poor thing, Olivia,” she murmured, reaching for her friend’s hand. “It sounds like you’ve been having a hard time of it. But I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you so much.” She cast a misty-eyed smile at Arabella. “Both of you.”

  “Me, too, dear Sophie,” responded Arabella. Without her glasses on, it was easy to see her hazel eyes were suspiciously damp as well.

  “Oh fie, you three,” said Charlie with a mock frown. “You’ll make me cry, too, at this rate. And you know how dreadful I look when I do.”

  “Yes you do. Utterly frightful,” agreed Nate, and Charlie poked her tongue out at him, which set them all laughing. A waiter approached, and after he’d distributed menus, Nate continued, “Ladies. I say it’s high time we celebrated your reunion. My treat.”

  Charlie grinned at them all. “In that case, let’s all order something quite wicked. And expensive.”

  Sophie was running her gaze over the delightful fare on offer when Lord Malverne leaned closer, his leg bumping hers. She supposed it was an accidental nudge as the chairs were quite small and delicate, and he was a tall man; his long muscular legs barely fit beneath the table. “What do you recommend, Miss Brightwell?” he asked in a low voice. “I must confess, this is the first time I’ve been to Gunter’s. And while I do enjoy wicked things, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  Sophie’s eyebrows shot up. Everyone visited Gunter’s. It was the crème de la crème of tea shops. Her mama even brought her, Alice, and Jane here whenever they visited London. “You cannot be serious,” she said, unable to keep the note of surprise from her voice. “You only live on the other side of the square.”

  Lord Malverne’s mouth tilted into a rakish smile. “Indeed, I am perfectly serious. Sweet things usually aren’t to my taste.” His gaze dipped to her mouth for a brief moment before returning to her eyes. “But I’m always willing to try something new.”

  Oh, my goodness. A blush heating her cheeks, Sophie glanced at Charlie to see if her friend had noticed Lord Malverne’s overt flirting, but she was listening to one of the waiters as he listed the puddings of the day.

  “I . . . well . . .” She dropped her attention to the menu again. Anything to avoid Lord Malverne’s devilishly twinkling brown eyes and knowing smile. “If you have more of a savory palate, there are dishes like salmon and asparagus tartlets, and stilton and fig pastries. There’s even a variety of savory ices. See here.” She pointed to the list. “I’ve never tried it, but there’s a frozen fromage de Parmesan spiced with cloves and cinnamon, and there’s an artichoke ice cream. And then there’s always the tarter, citrus sorbets. I quite like lemon verbena, but there’s also one flavored with bergamot. And of course, there’s Gunter’s signature pineapple ice, but perhaps that’s a bit too sweet for your taste. Then again, maybe you think it’s too cold today for an iced confection . . .” Oh, dear Lord, she was babbling, so she pr
essed her lips together to make herself stop.

  Lord Malverne didn’t seem to mind her nervous blathering, though, as he continued to smile at her. “Hmm. They all sound tempting. And I have no doubt you are quite the connoisseur.” He ran a finger along his full lower lip as though weighing the options. “Tell me, Miss Brightwell. What are you going to have?”

  Sophie smiled. “Well, that’s an easy question to answer. I usually have the strawberry ice cream.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Lord Malverne turned his attention to the waiter who had been hovering nearby. “Two goblets of your strawberry ice cream, thank you.”

  The waiter bowed. “Bien sûr, sir.”

  As much as Sophie would have liked to continue her discourse with Lord Malverne—she was just starting to feel more at ease in his company—Olivia claimed her attention by asking her about her family and the recent goings-on in Monkton Green. Sophie quite happily filled her in on all the details—as pedestrian as they were—before the discussion moved onto Arabella’s upcoming trip abroad.

  “We will miss you terribly,” remarked Charlie. “So you must promise to write to us about all your adventures. And often.”

  It appeared to Sophie that Arabella’s smile seemed forced rather than genuine when she agreed. “What is it, Arabella?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”

  Arabella gave a short laugh, and there was a note of bitterness in her voice when she responded. “Is it dreadful to say I’d much rather stay here in London with you all, or even return to Edinburgh, so I can get on with my charity work? But it seems my aunt Flora is determined that I curb my ‘unnatural bluestocking tendencies.’” She let out a derisive huff. “She thinks a trip to the Continent will somehow cure me—that visiting castles and châteaux and endless churches will somehow turn me into a romantic, biddable creature rather than a practical, disagreeable one. Of course it won’t. But it seems I have little choice in the matter.”

  As long as Sophie had known Arabella, she’d always professed a desire to follow in her dearly departed grandfather’s footsteps. He was a Scottish physician of renown in some quarters, and Arabella had always wanted to continue his crusade of improving the health and living conditions of the working poor, institutionalized infants and children, much to the horror of her aunt Flora. Like Olivia, Arabella was an orphan too. Since her grandfather’s passing a year ago, she’d been obliged to live with her aunt and, much to her chagrin, had become little more than a companion to her and her cousin, Lilias, Flora’s recently wedded daughter.

  “On the other hand, as much as I wish to wed and have my own family one day, at least she won’t be trying to drag me to Almack’s.” Arabella shuddered. “As you all know, I cannot dance, so at least I am saved from that particular hell.”

  Lord Malverne grinned. “Miss Jardine, it seems you and I are of a similar mind. Almack’s is indeed a most singular hell.”

  When their ices and puddings arrived, Charlie and Lord Malverne regaled them with amusing on-dits about various members of the ton. Despite his assertion that he never read the scandal rags, it seemed Lord Malverne was quite familiar with all of the latest gossip.

  Sophie was just finishing off her dish of ice cream when she noticed Lord Malverne had stopped eating his. She was about to ask him if the dessert wasn’t to his taste when she followed the direction of his gaze; he was looking toward the front door, where another small party had just stepped in from the rain.

  “Oh look, Nate,” Charlie murmured, “Lady Penelope Perfect has just arrived. Perhaps you’d best slide beneath the table.”

  Nate grimaced and focused on his ice cream again. “Believe me, I wish I’d fit.”

  Sophie threw her friend a quizzical look. “Lady Penelope Perfect?”

  “The young blond woman in the pink gown who rather resembles a Meissen figurine. Her real name is Lady Penelope Purcell and her father is the Duke of Stafford. But it just so happens that our father wishes Nate would court her this Season. She recently made her debut, and it’s universally acknowledged she’d be quite the catch.”

  “I don’t wish to pay anyone court, paragon of perfection or not,” grumbled Nate.

  Charlie smirked. “Don’t worry, dear brother. Viscount or no, I’m sure she’s too picky to give you more than a passing glance.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  As Sophie watched the beautiful Lady Penelope cross the room—even her walk was elegant—she couldn’t help but breathe a small inward sigh of relief. At least Lord Malverne didn’t seem in the least bit smitten with the debutante.

  Talk soon turned to what all of their plans would be for the rest of the Season.

  Charlie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I see no reason to stop us from reconvening the Society for Enlightened Young Women now that we are all together once more,” she declared as she scooped up the last of her mousse au chocolat. “After all, whether we grace Almack’s or not, we still have similar aims in life, don’t we? To make suitable matches—not just because our families and society expect it—but because we desire wedded bliss also? However”—she punctuated her point by jabbing her spoon in the air—“the only way we can make truly informed decisions about the men we may encounter, men who may propose marriage, is to improve our knowledge of the other sex.”

  “I don’t know if I should be listening to this,” murmured Lord Malverne. His expression was decidedly pained.

  Charlie cast him an amused look. “We could always make you an honorable member, Nate. I’m sure you’d be able to offer your own unique perspective on how we should best go about finding, and then ensnaring, husbands. Perhaps you could even suggest a few eligible male specimens.”

  “Good Lord, please don’t mention my name and anything to do with marriage in the same breath,” muttered Lord Malverne. He raked his hand through his hair, then got to his feet. “Ladies.” He bowed to Olivia, Arabella, and then Sophie. “While it’s been a pleasure to spend time in your company—and Miss Brightwell, I truly enjoyed the strawberry ice cream—I’m afraid I have other pressing business I must attend to. And Charlotte . . .” He pinned his sister with a narrow-eyed stare and lowered his voice. “Some brotherly words of advice. Please be cautious. I know I am not a paragon of exemplary behavior, so I cannot cast stones, but you really do not wish to end up in hot water again, do you?”

  Charlie frowned back at him. “Of course I’ll be careful, Nate. Do not worry. It’s just . . . harmless girlish talk.”

  “As long as it’s discreet talk and nothing else.” Lord Malverne inclined his head in farewell. “Ladies.”

  Sophie watched his retreating back with a sigh. If only Viscount Malverne were an eligible male specimen. When she turned her attention back to the table, Charlie gave her another one of her assessing looks.

  “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she asked, even though she knew very well why. Olivia and Arabella were casting her curious looks too.

  “I’ve seen you making calf’s eyes at my brother, Sophie. I’ll admit he is charming and handsome, but you heard it straight from his mouth. The institution of marriage is anathema to him.”

  A scalding blush crept up Sophie’s neck and across her face. “I . . . he’s . . . it’s not . . . I’m not . . .”

  Olivia smiled and touched her hand. “Dear Sophie. You are beginning to sound like me. But don’t be embarrassed. Lord Malverne makes me blush too. As Charlie said, he is very handsome.”

  Sophie sighed. “I was hoping no one would notice my silly infatuation.”

  “It’s all right,” Charlie said. “I suspected he was flirting with you when he asked you to recommend something for him to try.”

  “You heard that?”

  Charlie’s eyes softened with compassion. “Yes. I’m sorry he’s been acting like a cad, but it’s just the way he is. You really should try to ignore him. He has a good heart, bu
t he is as inconstant as the moon or the ocean tide. As much as my father wishes Nate would court a respectable young woman and settle down, I really don’t think he ever will.”

  Olivia pushed her unfinished plate of crème caramel away. “What is it about rakehells that make them so appealing? They are wicked and can only be bad for us, yet we seem to crave them. A bit like everything on the menu here at Gunter’s, don’t you think?”

  Sophie gave a weak smile. “Yes. I think that analogy works very well. I feel a little better now knowing I’m not the only one who feels this way.”

  “Hmmm.” Charlie looked thoughtful as she turned her empty glass dish of mousse this way and that. “You know, the more I think on it, the more I’m convinced rakehells are exactly the sort of men we should be targeting in our quest to wed.”

  Sophie frowned. “I’m confused. You just said I should ignore my tendre for your brother.”

  “Yes, simply because I know Nate and what he’s truly like. But there must be other rakehells who aren’t quite so bad,” replied Charlie. “They can’t all be as shy of marriage as Nate.”

  Arabella’s forehead creased in consternation. “Be that as it may, I’m not convinced this is a sound or indeed safe strategy.”

  “I admit it’s unorthodox, but it might be the only feasible strategy we have,” countered Charlie. “Think on it. Three years ago, we were all thrown out of Mrs. Rathbone’s academy and gossiped about to no end. Called all kinds of terrible names. Even though I believe the scandal surrounding us has faded to a degree, we will still be regarded with disdain by many within the ton. But Nate just said that he can’t really throw stones at us. So what if other gentlemen with rakish tendencies are of a similar opinion? From what I know of Nate’s conquests—which isn’t a great deal, mind you—he prefers women who aren’t so demure and virtuous. In fact, I think he finds prim and proper debutantes, like Lady Penelope, to be quite boring and bland.”